Flame of Faith
by ThePet
Summary: When Philip Callaghan begins to lose his faith, he unwittingly opens his heart and mind to a long-forgotten evil. Can Derek Rayne and Paul Reichlok save his soul...and the Legacy?
1. Default Chapter

Prologue  
  
The night was dark, but streetlamps, their wicks flickering in the frosty breeze, allowed some semblance of daylight to overpower the feeling of aloneness, of fear, which would otherwise have filled the young man's heart. Quietly, he slipped through the semi-blackness, his face alternately shadowed and highlighted as he stepped between the lamps. Above him, the sky began to rage....it would not be long now before he reached the church. There - over the mound of the hill! The streetlights were behind him now; above lay only a deep, silent darkness, as the short, squat building rose ominously in front of him, silhouetted by the moon, until even that pale comfort slid, unspoken, behind the gathering black thunderheads which accumulated inevitably both within and without the man. Shivering, he quickened his pace, hurrying toward the church; now he could see its hard grey stone, and the gravestones rising from the blackness. Then it began to rain, and the rain was bloody; lightning flashed, and it was then that he saw a silhouette in one high stained glass window.  
  
The figure of the priest.  
  
I  
  
"Boy! What a night!" Shaking her wet hair free from her face, Alex Moreau stepped quickly into the dark hall. The storm had put the lights out, it seemed. Only a faint gleam from a set of candles, laid neatly in a priceless hand made candelabra, allowed her to see her way dimly into the house. Removing her sodden coat and throwing it absently onto a stand beside the door, the social worker glanced briefly about her with mild puzzlement; no one seemed to be around. Sure, it was a big house, but it was strange that the butler had not answered the door; strange that nobody appeared to have noticed her entrance. After all, they had been expecting her arrival, hadn't they? Maybe something was wrong? Faintly worried now, Alex made for the stairs. She was just about to begin climbing - in fact had laid her slim hand on the beautifully finished old-style wooden banister - when the figure of a tall, dark man appeared directly above her. Startled, she leaped backwards, automatically prepared to fight or flee - and that was when he grabbed her. Screaming, she aimed a vicious punch directly at her assailant's. stomach; it connected unexpectedly well and he staggered backwards, surprised. She was about to throw herself at him and force him to the ground when the lights flickered on.  
  
"Alex?"  
  
"Derek!?" Relived and horrified at the same time, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry! Are you okay?"  
  
"I've felt better. You have a powerful right hook." Wincing sympathetically, Alex helped her friend to sit on the bottomost stair. Pressing one hand to his bruised stomach, Derek Rayne grimaced dryly. "You're lucky I wasn't carrying a weapon."  
  
"Weapon? Who were you expecting?"  
  
"I thought you were an intruder." For the first time, he noticed her dripping clothing and weary expression.  
  
"What happened to you?"  
  
"I got caught in the storm....it's absolutely pouring down out there. Hey, where's everyone else? Hiding behind the wall with a rocket launcher?"  
  
"Funny." Getting to his feet, Rayne turned and headed up the stairs. "I'll find you some dry clothes. Do you want to take a shower?"  
  
"Not until I know exactly what's going on." She declared. "You called me out here at almost eleven in the evening, remember? It's pretty late considering I had to drive from Pine Reach! Is everyone else here?"  
  
"In one state or another, yes." He responded dryly. "You're not the only one called at short notice. Nick was on a date." With a compassionately amused smile, Alex made for the warmth of the lounge, then remembered the lack of lighting. "Er....where are we sitting?"  
  
"Upstairs, in the library."  
  
Immediately she entered the room, Alex felt the warm, familiar, soothing atmosphere there begin to calm her slightly jangled nerves. Her friends, Nick and Rachel, seated comfortably on large, soft chairs, another free chair nearby, and one behind the desk, doubtless where Derek had been sitting. The candles which had been placed here and there in the wonderfully rustic room cast a soft glow over the desk and bookcases lining the walls. Occasionally flashes of lightning lit up the room, accompanied by the deep, low sound of thunder. It was like walking into a gothic novel, especially when Derek seated himself behind the desk and spoke softly in his deep, sexy, sensually accented voice.  
  
"I think you all have some idea of why we're here tonight."  
  
"If we knew that, we needn't have come in the first place." Nick Boyle spoke up in a scornful tone. "And I'd be having a good time with Leila rather than vegetating here while you go on with your usual uninformative razzmatazz."  
  
"Thank you, Nick." Rayne murmured with little indication that he had paid any attention whatever to his colleague's minor rant.  
  
"And just how much of a titbit of fact are you going to leak out to us this time, Derek?" Boyle went on, annoyed that the other man hadn't taken the bait. "Or are you just going to let us guess why you had to inconvenience everyone this evening." Derek eyed him patiently while the ex-Navy Seal glared back with a belligerent, insubordinate expression.  
  
"The only person being inconvenienced at the moment, Mr. Boyle, is me; I'm having to wait while you have your little hissy fit." Startled, Nick sat back in his chair, scowling, and looking so like a schoolboy being ticked off by the headmaster that Alex exchanged an amused look with Rachel.  
  
"Nick has a point, though.." The latter allowed. "We would like to know what's going on, Derek. Kat's at home and I don't like to leave her too long." Katherine Corrigan was Rachel's eight year old daughter, and all she had left of Patrick, her husband. He and their son had been killed in a car accident not long before Rachel had become involved with Derek and the others. Naturally protective over her remaining child, especially considering the nature of the society, Rachel was uncomfortable with leaving her alone with a neighbour for too long and so late at night. Understanding, Rayne folded his hands and began to explain.  
  
"I received a call a few hours ago from an unknown location. The caller was hysterical and refused identify himself; however, he addressed me by name and repeatedly begged for help from the Legacy." There was a pause. No one said anything. Then, uncertainly, Nick asked, "if they know about the Legacy, why didn't they give their name? Were they afraid of something? Of someone?"  
  
"Possibly. Or perhaps they were just too panicked and never thought about it." Rachel offered.  
  
"Or," Alex added, "they may have expected Derek to know who they were." She paused a moment to let it sink in. "Did you recognise the voice?"  
  
"As a matter of fact," Rayne said quietly, "I did." He looked round at the others, gauging the reaction. Nick leaned forward in his seat.  
  
"Well, for God's sake, who was it?"  
  
"Someone with whom you are all well acquainted. Philip Callaghan."  
  
It took some moments for the little group to absorb this piece of startling information. Expressions ranging from surprise, concern and anger flashed across the faces of the three people sitting before the desk; the anger, of course, was Nick's.  
  
"Why the Hell" he asked in a tightly dangerous voice, "didn't you tell us all this earlier? Right after he made the call?" Incensed, he raged on without giving Rayne the chance to reply. "He could be dead or something by now! Why haven't you done anything about it? What're you going to do, mention it casually next week at dinner? 'Oh, by the way, guys, Philip called, I think he's been murdered?' Isn't he important anymore now that he's not part of the Legacy?" Throughout the tirade, Derek remained seated, his deepset eyes fixed calmly on the furious young man, an inscrutable expression on his quiet face. As Boyle slowly simmered down, Rayne took a long, slow breath, and spoke evenly but with authority.  
  
"Nick, I think you're overreacting. He called only a few hours earlier. I had to contact all of you and consider a course of action. Also I wanted to find out where he was calling from so that we can find him if the need arises."  
  
"The need has arisen! For Christ's sake...."  
  
"Please." He raised a hand. "I know Philip is a close friend of yours, and I share your anxiety...." Boyle grunted. "But we actually know very little about his situation. Perhaps you will allow me to give you al little more information before you fly off the handle in future. I was about to explain exactly what Philip told me." Without allowing Nick to speak further, or challenge Derek's reasoning, the Precept of the San Francisco Legacy House proceeded to describe the call he had received in even, steady tones and precise detail.  
  
It was no longer possible to deny. For so long now there had been a weakening, a failing; a sorrowful lessening of the faith which had borne him up for so long. Once, there had been a warm, secure sense of completeness, of rightness, of calm and unshakeable peace; now, all that remained was chaos and deterioration of the soul. What had once been his salvation had become his Hell, and Father Philip Callaghan could stand no more. Kneeling in front of the crucifix, trembling violently, his hands clasped desperately before him as he sought vainly to find some solace in prayers he no longer believed in, Callaghan knew that the time had come. The church was icy cold; a violent wind blew cruelly, hissing tree branches against the stained glass; howling its blasphemy as it tore deep into the tendrils of the priest's fearful soul. A sudden flash of bright lightning startled him, and he leapt to his feet, running for the door, the insane screaming of the thunder finally ripping reason from his exhausted mind, and setting it free upon the wind. Outside, the storm embraced him, tugged at him, urged him to leave this place and escape the mindless twisting of his heart. With a harsh sob of bewildered release Callaghan flung open the church door and fled into the graveyard. Staggering against the wind, stumbling, shivering, he eventually managed to reach the road, and collapsed in a frightened, weary heap beside it. Cars racing through the night, people longing for home and family and warm beds, ignored the prone figure, and he was able to remain still for a while and try to collect his cascading, tumultuous thoughts. And, in time, he did. The he made the telephone call.  
  
Derek Rayne had been sitting in the library, reading through his journal of past Legacy cases, when the call came through. Deep in thought, his dark eyes distant, Doctor Rayne looked much less like a biological anthropologist specialising in forensics than a gothic figure, a vampire hunter, perhaps; a young Van Helsing, powerful, strong, yet gentle. The latter, despite his degree, could easily have been more appropriate and factual than the former; the Luna Foundation, home of archaeology, of artefacts, of a well-established and specialised science, hid beneath it the Legacy, a secret society in existence since the beginning of time, since the good and the pure first fought its battle against the Dark Side. The San Francisco House, of which Rayne was the head, was only a single facet of a group which extended far beyond the boundaries of the island on which it physically existed. Like his father before him, Derek Rayne was fiercely and passionately dedicated to the Legacy, and to its purpose and to its cause. As were the others - Alex, Rachel, Nick, and, once, Philip Callaghan. But the priest had left them, was no longer part of the team. Not technically. But the Legacy, and Derek Rayne, would be there for him always, should he ever need it, and despite Callaghan's determination to sever the ties, Derek knew that Philip would always be a part of the Legacy.  
  
And then, the telephone call. Slightly startled, and roused from his thoughts, Rayne leaned over to scoop the receiver from its cradle.  
  
"Derek Rayne."  
  
"Derek? Derek, is that you?" Frowning, the Precept pressed the 'phone a little closer to his ear. The voice sounded so distant.  
  
"Yes, speaking."  
  
"Oh, thank God, thank God. Listen....something's....I need help, somebody help me! Derek, you have to do something, I can't live with this anymore! You're the only one....you and the Legacy....please...." The voice faded, to be replaced by an eerily roaring wind.  
  
"Philip?" Rayne asked. "Philip!" No response; merely the howling of a far-off storm. Confused and somewhat concerned, Derek replaced the receiver. For a moment he remained seated, hands steepled, eyes closed, as he attempted to recollect every word the priest had said, every nuance of his tone. After a moment he rose and headed for the massive centre of technology which lay behind a holographic wall in the house. After several unsuccessful attempts to trace the call, he returned thoughtfully to the lounge, and proceeded to request the presence of his three colleagues.  
  
"That's everything?" Nick demanded.  
  
"That's everything." Derek confirmed. He note that the others looked as confused as he felt himself.  
  
"Why would Philip say those things if something weren't seriously wrong?" Alex wondered aloud.  
  
"Good question. We have to assume that he's in some serious trouble."  
  
"And in danger." Rachel agreed.  
  
"So we have to find him!" Nick leapt to his feet as though planning to rush out into the storm and explore the whole of America and the United Kingdom immediately. Rachel pulled him back down.  
  
"We can't go looking yet. We need to have some idea of where he is." She paused, biting her lip, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "Perhaps he'll call again? If he does the first thing to ask is where we can reach him."  
  
"Good idea. Although I admit that I don't think he will call again; he seemed afraid of something, so afraid that he may not risk contacting us too often."  
  
"So that's the plan? To wait?" Nick, disgusted, rose and headed for the door. "Look, we can't just forget about this! Anything could happen...."  
  
"Will you please calm down?" Derek requested softly.  
  
"No! For God's sake...."  
  
"Look." Rachel, the voice of calm and reason, stepped in before Nick could offend Derek further. "We have no idea exactly where Philip is right now. We won't do him any good by rushing around trying to find him. All we can do is wait."  
  
"Rachel's right." Alex put in gently. She moved around the desk to lay a hand lightly on Derek's shoulder. "The next move is Philip's, if there is a next move. Okay? Are we agreed?"  
  
"Agreed." Rachel said. Derek nodded and gave a faint smile. Nick glared for a moment, then gave in. "Okay." He muttered. "Fine." He walked out. "I'll be back tomorrow Just let me know if you hear anything, all right?"  
  
"Of course." Derek murmured. He glanced at the others.  
  
"Rachel, I expect you'll want to get home to Kat."  
  
"Yeah; I've left her with a baby-sitter, but it was short notice. I couldn't bring her out this late. I'll be back in the morning to see if there's any development, okay?"  
  
"Sure. Alex?"  
  
"I'll stay here." She gave her usual warm, tranquil smile, but Rachel saw the worry in her dark eyes. "See you tomorrow, Rachel."  
  
"Right." She got up, offered a strained smile to both of them, and left. After a moment Derek stood also.  
  
"I'm going to turn in. Coming?"  
  
"I think I will." They made for the stairs together. Outside Derek's bedroom, they paused, and he smiled at her. "Well, goodnight." Alex nodded. He stopped, one hand resting on the door handle, and glanced back at her. For a fleeting moment Alex thought that he as going to invite her inside. Then, with another faint smile, he was gone. As she continued down the corridor towards her own room, Alex Moreau's thoughts were full of concern, of weariness....and of wistful regret.  
  
Such cold. It was colder and harsher weather than ever he had known. Staggering weakly along the quiet roads, the dark roads, the lonely roads, in search of the aid which he knew could only be found in one place; to free himself within he had to seek what lay without, but still a part of him....oh, God, why hast thou forsaken me? The words came unbidden to his mind. The storm raged still, its thunder tearing into his soul as he struggled for escape, to no avail. But he would not fall easily. Somewhere within him, a flame still burned; it burned despite the ragings of the storm, the beating of the rain, the howling of the wind, which sought to extinguish it forever. It flickered, and it faded, but it did not die. At least, not yet. In anguish, Philip Callaghan fought to fan the flame of his faith, to keep that lone candle burning amid a thrashing, bloody sea.  
  
If it should fail, then he knew that like that flame the heart of his abandoned home would shudder and fall still.  
  
"What the Hell...." Derek Rayne sat up in bed, felt for the switch of the lamp, remembered the storm, and cursed softly. Blind, he groped for a torch; the single light he had placed on the table beside his bed, should it be needed. Swiftly he found it, scooped it up and pressed the button; a soft circle of light illuminated the opposite wall, glancing shadows at every place its halo skirted. Blinking, Rayne swung his feet over the side of the large, luxurious bed, threw a gown over the top of his nightwear and headed for the stairs. As he made his way, the sound which he had thought he heard confirmed its existence by repeating; someone was knocking at the door! Someone who had apparently ignored the security system entirely, someone who had travelled in the middle of the screaming thunder and lashing rain to pay a visit to a historical-cum-ancient society at three in the morning. Derek felt a stab of alarm; was it Rachel? Had something happened to Kat? Or perhaps Nick - had he gone in search of Philip after all, and found something? Grunting, he undid the locks and flung open the door, carefully stepping back a few paces....he knew all too well the dangers of unnecessary haste. The door swung inward, and in the blackness outside Derek could barely make out a tall, spare figure, dressed in black, hardly distinguishable from the night. Before the Precept could speak, the visitor stumbled forward, and fell. Derek caught him before he could hit the ground, then lowered him down, knelt, and gently lifted his head.  
  
"Oh, dear Lord." He said quietly. "Philip."  
  
"Mommy? Where're we going?"  
  
"I'm sorry, honey; you can sleep in the car. It won't be long."  
  
"But it's the morning! Why are we going now?" Helplessly confused at the pointless activities adults in general, and her mother in particular, Katherine Corrigan planted herself firmly at the head of the stairs, and glared defiantly down at Rachel.  
  
"Couldn't Derek wait until later?"  
  
"It's very important, pumpkin. Now come on."  
  
"Not until you tell me what's happening! Is it something bad? Is it Nick, Mommy?" Nick was much beloved by the little girl; she felt the absence of her father very much, and the young man had never treated her any way but kindly.  
  
"No, Nick's fine, Kat. He'll be there."  
  
"Then what?" Rachel hovered uncertainly in the doorway. On the one hand, she didn't want to break news that might upset Katherine to her hurriedly; it would take time to explain. But Kat was stubborn, God bless her, and Rachel knew that she wouldn't move until some explanation had been given.  
  
"It's Philip, Kat. He turned up unexpectedly about half an hour ago. Derek wants us all to go over there so that we can talk to him. Now, we really have to get going. Come on!" It was the right choice of words. Cheerful at the prospect of seeing Callaghan again, Katherine almost bounded down the stairs and allowed Rachel to firmly button up her thickest and most waterproof coat.  
  
Once in the car, Kat became surprisingly quiet; tired, her mother supposed, carefully making a turn while keeping a sharp eye on a speedily moving driver in the next lane. The rain hadn't let up in the least, and it battered down viciously on the roof of the car. Rachel; was greatly relieved when she came within view of the Legacy House, rising in gothic grandeur amidst the endless downpour, its huge, castle-like structure making it seem unnervingly sinister in the wrath of the storm. Glancing back, Rachel smiled at her daughter.  
  
"We're almost there, honey." But Kat didn't smile in return. Her eyes were wide with fear, her mouth open, shocked terror visible in every aspect of her countenance.  
  
"Kat, what...." Rachel didn't need to finish the question. It loomed before her, enormous, impossibly black and somehow still glowing, bearing down on them, leering with huge, insane, luminous yellow eyes....with a scream of pure horror, Rachel swerved violently off the road, slamming on the brakes then easing off abruptly in an attempt to negate her gut reaction and avoid the inevitable skid. But it was not to be. The car hurtled sideways along the road, tyres wailing, Kat screaming, Rachel staring in disbelief at the ditch as they shuddered towards it, unable to comprehend that this was it, the end had come and it was this....  
  
Silence. Deep, impossible silence....then the wind, howling once more, the rain pelting, the lightning flashing victorious across the sky. Rachel had never seen a more beautiful sight, purely because she was alive to see it. Then with a flash of maternal terror she thought of her daughter.  
  
"Kat! Kat, baby, are you okay? Answer me!" Nothing for one horrible moment, and then:  
  
"Mommy? What happened?" With a sudden sob of relief, Doctor Corrigan scrabbled at her seat belt, finally pulling it free, and stepped around to the back of the car to pull her trembling daughter out into the capering night. Katherine seemed shaken but unhurt; her eyes were wild, but there was no blood, and she seemed able to stand.  
  
"Oh, sweetheart." Rachel whispered, cradling the child. "It's okay now." She pulled the girl back to look into her eyes.  
  
"We went off the road. It was my fault, I wasn't paying enough attention....oh, honey, I'm so sorry."  
  
"It's okay, Mom." Sniffing but no longer afraid, Kat turned to glance at the stricken car.  
  
"I think it's stuck, huh?" Rachel nodded.  
  
"Looks that way. Let me go see." She went back to the driver's side, made to open the door, then recoiled suddenly as a harsh and evil image rose sickly in her mind; if she opened the door, she would see her own bloody, broken corpse lying motionless in the seat, gazing with lifeless eyes through the smashed windscreen at the crumpled body of her daughter, her brain pierced by shards of glass, her dead hand clutched to her face in agony. Sickened, Corrigan reeled away from the wreckage and staggered back to Katherine, enveloping her child in her arms, barely affording a last, frightened glance at the silent car.  
  
"We can walk the rest, Kat. It's only a couple of minutes to the gate."  
  
"Mom?"  
  
"What, Hon?"  
  
"Why did we go into the ditch? What made us go in?"  
  
"The truck, Kat. Didn't you see it? It was a big black truck." Katherine said nothing, but her eyes were troubled....and full of fear. 


	2. Part II

Interlude  
  
The image beckoned to him, its eyes wide and dark and supremely evil, its face twisted, no longer the gentle, youthful countenance which he had warmed to barely twelve hours before. Smiling, although not a smile but a hideous parody of one, the man extended his hand once more, finger crooked, gaze burning into his head. Ah....had she been right, after all? Were those tales true, despite the charm, despite the warmth, despite the explanations and alternatives? Shuddering in anticipation of who could determine what, he slower moved closer to the church. A shadow followed him, but as he glanced behind, slipped away into the black, fluttering like a ghost across the churchyard to its master. For it was true, and that was he, the master of shadows.  
  
The priest beckoned once again.  
  
II  
  
Sunday 1st. This morning I spent in the church, until about eleven, when Father Rycliffe took me aside and asked if anything was wrong. I didn't know what to say; how can I give voice to what I'm feeling, when I can't even be sure of it in my own heart? So I said that everything was fine, that I was just tired....he didn't believe me, I know. But then, who would? There is no way to conceal now the torment that I am feeling, the chaos that reigns within me. I cannot fight it, I cannot control it, and worst of all, I cannot express it. God help me!  
  
Tuesday 3rd. It's grown worse. I can hide my pain no longer; I have to find some way to tell someone. Anyone. They can't help me; I am beyond help, I think. But the confusion....the confusion, the fear, is so great that it has to manifest itself in some way, or else I'll go insane.  
  
Perhaps I am already insane. That would explain everything! It would be so much easier, too, so much less pain. Simply to slip away into some other, less demanding, world. Here they ask of me, always they ask of me, "How can we help? Let us help." Worse, they say "let God help you, pray to Him, He is there for all of us." Ah, they know not what they do. They can't realise the anguish which those few well-meaning words have caused me. I have asked for guidance, for forgiveness; but not for months now, not for months. If only they knew. But how can I explain? Must go; Father Rycliffe is calling me.  
  
Friday 6th? I've been here for what feels like days, although it can only be twenty four hours at the most, I think. Oh, I wish they'd lock me here ad throw away the key. But they won't; they tell me to leave, to join them, to find solace in their company and their prayer. Dear God! Don't they know what they're asking! There is no solace anymore, no sanctity, no peace, for me. It does not exist within me and I cannot find it in this world, and I cannot help but hate it in others, how can they be so fulfilled, so calm, so happy, so contented? Why are they not in chaos as I am? Why me? Why only me? God! Answer! Oh sweet Jesus, why don't you answer?  
  
The night....is dark. I can't see outside any more. Have they gone to bed? Yes, no sounds. They sleep, I think; I do not. Like Macbeth, I sleep no more. The storm is growing, I feel it. There is no way to deny it anymore, no other possible explanation; I can no longer pass it off as exhaustion, stress, grief. If only I were mad!  
  
The chaos grows with the storm, it consumes me. I can't fight it, not alone. I do not have the strength, and I am not sure that I ever did. Help me! Please! I can't go on any longer. I have to find peace. I have to find peace. I have to find peace. I have to find peace. I haveto find peace IhavetofindpeaceIhavetofind  
  
Our Father who art in Heaven hallowed be thy name thy kingdom come thy will done on Earth as it is in Heaven give us this day....give us this....give...  
  
III  
  
Rachel Corrigan was sipping hot cocoa in the lounge when Derek entered. His expression was grim. She looked up.  
  
"How is he?"  
  
"Have you read this?" She put down her cup and leaned forward to take the slim book from Derek's hand.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Philip's journal." She gazed at him expectantly, but he offered no further elucidation. After a long moment, she shrugged, and opened the book to its first page. Rayne simply sat and stared at her as she read, his eyes troubled. As she turned the pages, her hand went slowly to her mouth, and stayed there. Finally she put the book down.  
  
"Oh my God. Have you spoken to him about this?"  
  
"He's still sleeping. I don't want to disturb him unless it's absolutely necessary; I don't think he's rested for some days."  
  
"I agree." Rachel nodded. "But still, we have to find out what is going on inside of him that would cause....this." She paused, nibbling her lip, and when Derek didn't reply, she went on: "That journal....is the inner thoughts of someone suffering greatly, and entirely unable to explain his condition even to himself. This is the part that worries me most," she gestured to the page, "he writes the same sentence repeatedly, running the words together; and here, the Lord's Prayer, very disjointed, incoherent. These phrases could be an attempt by Philip's subconscious to express the chaos he claims to be feeling....and that he's trapped, and feels that no- one can help."  
  
"That concerns me. I want your opinion as a psychiatrist, Rachel....could this be some kind of psychological disorder?"  
  
"You mean, abnormal psychology? An illness? Maybe we're overreacting here; perhaps he's just stressed out, lonely, confused. He may be having a crisis of faith, that's happened before. I think we should rule out that before we jump to any conclusions." Derek closed his eyes briefly, then nodded.  
  
"I'll talk to him if you want me to." Corrigan suggested gently, noting his drained appearance. "You should go to bed, you've been sitting up with him all night."  
  
"I'm fine." He brushed off her concern. "I'm going to find out where Philip was staying, maybe talk to some of the people there. He mentioned a Father Rycliffe....that's where we'll start, I think."  
  
"Derek....are you sure that this is necessary? It's not a case we're working on here."  
  
"Philip asked for my help." Rayne told her stiffly. "And he's going to get it."  
  
Interlude  
  
Quietly, filled with fear now, the man headed for the door. It slid open without a sound. He slipped inside, knowing that somewhere within the priest was waiting. Moving swiftly he stepped through the vestry; now, before him, he saw the altar. The priest was standing there, his white cassock stained with blood at the sleeves, a remnant of the ritual he had performed barely yesterday. In his hands he held the chalice, and on the altar lay the dagger....it was time. The priest beckoned. He ignored it, and moved beyond, to the aisle, where he turned to face the crucifix at the head of the altar. He gazed up at it, and the face of Christ wad filled with anguish. Oh sweet Jesus....and the priest, his hands clasped before him, looked to the sky and laughed.  
  
"Are you ready for Communion, Paul?"  
  
IV  
  
"Philip?" Gently, softly, Alex wiped the feverish sweat from his forehead with a cool damp cloth. "Can you hear me?"  
  
"Alex....?" Slowly his eyes opened, and he gazed up at her. His eyes were wide, frightened, confused. She smiled at him reassuringly.  
  
"Everything's okay now. You're at the house."  
  
"Yes....the House." He murmured, his lilting accent making the words into music. She put her hand on his arm.  
  
"Philip....do you remember coming here? When you arrived?"  
  
"I came here....myself?" More alert now, he tried to sit up. She pushed him back firmly.  
  
"Don't worry, just take it easy. You arrived here at about three in the morning, soaking wet from the storm. Derek let you in. Then you collapsed."  
  
"I don't remember." His troubled gaze wandered around the room, as though somehow surveying his surroundings would help him recall. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It's not important. We were just concerned....the weather was so bad last night, it seemed a hell of time to choose for a visit." She waited for Callaghan to reply, to mention the telephone call he had made....if he remembered that, of course. Seemingly he had not; he simply nodded, and leaned back. "Can't help you there."  
  
"Hey!" A grinning face appeared at the door, moments later followed by the figure of Nick Boyle. "How you doin', Philip?"  
  
"Not so bad, thanks. Seem to be suffering from selective amnesia, though."  
  
"Want me to bash you over the head? That's what they do in the movies."  
  
"I'll just leave you boys to your male bonding rituals, shall I?" Alex flashed Nick a quick glance which said as plainly as though she'd spoken: "Talk to him!" and left. Nick dropped comfortably into the beside chair she had vacated.  
  
"You know, there must be something about us. You just can't stay away, can you?"  
  
"I guess I just can't bring myself to tell you it's over, Nick." Suddenly serious, he sat up slightly and frowned. "I honestly can't remember what happened last night."  
  
"What's the last thing you do remember?"  
  
"I....I think....the church, yeah. I was in the church and something happened, I don't recall what....Father Rycliffe! I talked to him but I couldn't tell him what was going on, I tried to explain but I didn't know myself...."  
  
"Wait, wait! Slow down! What are you talking about?"  
  
"I felt....anchorless, out of control. Crazy, almost. Everything just seemed so confused. I didn't know who to turn to. Then last night I was just sitting in my room and....something came over me....it was so strange....I just can't understand it! I can't remember!" Frustrated, Philip slammed his fist down on the counterpane, his eyes glittering with anger. Startled but trying not to show it, Nick paced a soothing hand on his arm. "Relax, pal, okay? We'll get to the bottom of it." Philip nodded, still looking inflamed. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and Nick realised that his friend was suffering from extreme exhaustion, at the least. Attempting to lighten the mood a little, he remarked casually.  
  
"You know, Derek's really freaked out about this."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Well, turning up so early, and that call you made...." He waited to see if his gamble would pay off. It did.  
  
"Telephone call? Here?"  
  
"Yeah, you know. A little while ago. We've been trying to figure out where you were calling from."  
  
"Right." He muttered distractedly. "I think....I think I remember that. What did I say?"  
  
"That you needed help." Serious now, Boyle leaned forward. "And we will help you, you know that. But we need to know what the problem is first."  
  
"Nick....It's difficult. I can hardly describe what I've been feeling; I don't even understand it myself. But I do know this: only the Legacy can help me. There is no other choice."  
  
"Well, I found something."  
  
"From Rycliffe?" Alex grinned at Kat, who had been helping her to locate information about a selection of artefacts from a huge stack of reference books. "Kat, why don't you go see what Rachel is doing? We can finish this later." The girl glanced from Alex to Derek, saw the expression on his face, and frowned.  
  
"Is this about Philip?"  
  
"Yes it is, Katherine. I need to talk to Alex." His tone was pleasant but firm. She sighed, and made for the door. Then she paused, turned.  
  
"Is he going to be okay?"  
  
"Of course, honey." Alex soothed. "I know, why don't you and your mom go see him now? I bet he'd love to talk to you." Cheered, Kat bounced from the room. Derek watched her go with faint, grim amusement, then turned back to the expectant Alex.  
  
"So, what did he say?"  
  
"According to Rycliffe, Philip hasn't been himself for the past few weeks."  
  
"In what way?" A worried look ruffled the smooth skin of her forehead. "Is he sick? Having a breakdown? What?"  
  
"He couldn't say for sure. All he knows is that...."  
  
"Derek!" The yell came from above, urgent, demanding, unmistakably Nick Boyle's.  
  
"Oh, my God." Quickly the two rose and made for the stairs, Alex turning frightened eyes to her companion as they climbed together. They were running by the time they reached Philip's room.  
  
"Nick!" Derek burst through the door, and immediately stopped dead. Philip Callaghan stood before him, eyes wild, hands clasped desperately in his hair, his expression torn between terror and bewilderment. Behind him, sprawled on the bed, lay Nick's motionless body. Reacting quickly, Alex ran to the figures on the bed while Derek attempted to subdue the priest. It wasn't difficult; the moment the Precept took Callaghan's arm, Philip slumped against him with a whimper of almost childlike helplessness. Derek picked him up easily and carried him through to his own peaceful room, laying him on the bed. At that instant Rachel, alarmed by the chaos, came along the corridor with Katherine; the little girl ran forward the moment she saw Philip's limp form, and Rachel caught her arm to pull her back; ferociously she tugged herself away from her mother and flung herself on the prostrate Callaghan.  
  
"Rachel!" Derek snapped. "Nick's in Philip's room, he's hurt."  
  
"Oh....what happened....?"  
  
"Later; make sure Nick's okay, I'll deal with Philip, take Kat with you, tell Alex to go downstairs and fetch a damp cloth and a sedative." The commands came crisp, fast and clear; shaking off her confusion Rachel headed for Nick's room, brooking no argument from Katherine. Derek leaned over Philip. The priest was mumbling incoherently, his forehead dripping with perspiration. Derek caught the words, "God", "Help" and something which sounded like "stop" but little else. He sank down in a chair with a weary sigh. Without warning....  
  
He was in a corridor, a long dark corridor. Before him lay Callaghan, his eyes open, his head lolling limply to one side. Then, oh then, his eyes blinked and he stood and he was now on his feet in the flashing of the fire and the dagger gleamed, thrusting through the air, ah, such speed, such silence, see the flame see the light, see the darkness closing in and now all around you is black....  
  
He was sitting near the rear of the church ands the young girl was kneeling before the priest, her dark eyes full of adoration as she gazed up at him. She was six, seven, maybe....he reached behind him, took a chalice from the altar, the chalice which held the blood of Christ the Saviour - and he held it aloft, and it glittered in the pale light of the church, and he laughed....dashing the chalice to the floor, the priest whispered; "This, the blood of Christ...." the wine ran red along the aisle, soaking into the wood. The priest raised a dagger slowly in his hand; his face alight with love as he spoke to the child.  
  
"Maria Kroftenstein, are you ready to become one with our Lord?" Ecstatically, she whispered: "Yes...." Taking the gleaming dagger from the altar, he raised it above his head, higher and higher, and it glittered, and it shone, and without hesitation he plunged it into the heart of the child who knelt before him, her chest rising to receive it, her eyes glazed and full of rapturous elation as the blade penetrated and her sweet blood began to flow....  
  
"You are now truly one of His children." The priest whispered. At the rear of the church, a single man looked on in horror, a single soul screamed in anger at the violation which has just been committed....  
  
"Derek!" Startled, Rayne glanced up quickly. Alex stood above him, her face concerned.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"What....yes, of course. Fine." Distracted, his gaze wandered slowly to the limp figure on the bed. Alex followed his look and frowned.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"You were there. You tell me."  
  
"No....what happened to you? You've been sitting here for five minutes, Derek."  
  
"I don't....remember, exactly....images....so many images...." Alex stared hard at him, and her expression softened.  
  
"Nick's going to be fine, according to Rachel."  
  
"What happened?" Alex swallowed. It was hard to believe.  
  
"Philip....well, he went crazy."  
  
"Crazy? Exactly what do you mean?" His tone had sharpened, Alex winced, and gazed at him apologetically.  
  
"I don't know, that's what Nick told me. You'd better talk to him."  
  
"I intend to." Without further ado Derek rose and headed for Philip's room, leaving Alex in charge of Callaghan.  
  
"Look, he's not himself, okay? He didn't know what he was doing."  
  
"I still need to find out what happened, Nick." Perched on the edge of the bed where Nick lay, Derek reached out to place a hand lightly on the younger man's shoulder.  
  
"I know this is worrying to you; we're all concerned about Philip. You realise that the best way for us to help him is to know precisely what's going on in his mind. We can't understand what's going on, Nick, if you won't tell us what just occurred between the two of you." Boyle heaved a sigh. It was clear that he wasn't going to be able to spare Philip; the priest would have to explain himself sooner or later. Knowing Derek as well as he did, Nick also knew that the Precept would do everything he could to help Callaghan get over whatever it was that was affecting him so profoundly.  
  
"He just....lost it, I don't know how to explain better."  
  
"Philip attacked you?"  
  
"Yeah....yeah. he attacked me, but he didn't know what he was doing, Derek. It was almost as of....as if it weren't really him, you know?" Quietly, Derek nodded. "He was yelling, and then he got up and swung a punch at me. I didn't fight back because I was worried about hurting him. And he was so damn angry, I don't understand it."  
  
"Did you say anything to him that may have provoked that kind of response?"  
  
"No, of course I didn't! Look....it's probably stress or something, right?" Rayne sighed, and massaged his temples with the balls of his fingers. "I don't know, Nick. But I don't think so." Rayne was not about to lie to his young companion; in this situation, that could be dangerous.  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
"Do you feel up to coming downstairs? I think that the answer to your questions is something everyone should hear." 


	3. Part III

Interlude  
  
"Drink of me," he whispered. "And be one with the True Master." Whirling, shoving the priest away, Paul spun to face the congregation, to gain their help. Surely they must realise that the priest was insane? But gazing desperately among the faces, all Paul could see was a mass of rotted, withered bodies, slumped in pews. Bodies of men, women, children, some of them skeletal, some hideously bloody, all with hands raised, not in terror, but in horrific acceptance of their dark master. A congregation of the dead. In helpless horror, Paul returned his gaze to the priest, and in doing so, his eyes fell upon on the large crucifix position above the altar. Looking into the face of the Saviour for some kind of aid, Paul withheld a scream.  
  
Blood was seeping from the wounds of Jesus Christ, from the wrists and ankles where the nails had pierced the flesh. The priest moved to face the cross, half kneeling in a cruel mockery of genuflection. As the disciple of darkness touched his fingers lightly to his forehead, the crucifix erupted in flame. Around Paul, the hitherto silent members of the congregation began chanting, chanting words which sounded Latin, which Paul half understood. With a howl of anguish the officer reached up to grasp the cross before fire could consume it. Holding the burning wood, heedless of the pain, Paul swung it in the direction of the priest. The chanting grew louder, louder, louder still. Desperate, Paul flung the crucifix at the altar, which the priest had been forced by the flames to vacate. The cloth was consumed almost instantly in fire, and the priest laughed insanely, amused at Paul's terror, delighted by his agony. Paul could only stare in disbelief as the fire began to spread, touching the pews, the congregation, who seemed to exult in it. Unafraid, the priest stepped sagely into the fire, his dark eyes reflecting it.  
  
"Destroy us if you will, Paul. You alone can do that. But you don't truly want to. There is another way....all you have to is take my hand." So sure, so certain that Paul could be subverted, that he must choose the dark path.  
  
"No. In the name of God and all that is holy I banish you from this world!"  
  
"In the name of Satan," The priest replied quietly, "I banish you from yours." And the flame consumed him. Black ash lay before Paul, and that alone would serve as memorial for the evil which had existed in the parish at Kerentoth. Turning more slowly, Paul saw that the inhabitants of the village lay mewling and writhing in twisted agony as the fire ate at what remained of their tainted flesh. The fire began to eat into the wood, softly, almost gently, a force not of cruel destruction but of cleansing. Elvira, Paul thought sadly, as the flame consumed him, as well.  
  
  
  
"We have no other option but to consider it." Seated at various positions in the large room, the other members of the San Francisco House stared at their precept in horrified disbelief.  
  
"Possession." Nick repeated. He sounded dazed. Rachel sat up, and turned worried eyes on Derek.  
  
"You're sure about this?"  
  
"Not entirely. But it would seem to explain everything that has happened....would you rather believe that Philip would willingly attack his friend?" Heaving a sigh, Alex shook her head slowly. "Personally I have to agree with you. I can't see any other explanation, except for some serious psychological problem, I guess...."  
  
"And that's out of the question." Rachel put in firmly. "That's my professional opinion, at least." Nick stood up abruptly, the only one not convinced.  
  
"I can't accept that. If Philip was truly possessed, we'd be able to tell, right? I mean, come on, we've known him years! Do you honestly think that some spirit could fool us and make us think it was Philip?" No one answered; Rachel gazed at Nick sympathetically, Alex gazed down at the floor, and Derek stare resolutely out of the window. Nick stared around at them, shaking his head wonderingly.  
  
"But how? And why?"  
  
"That is what we must discover." Getting to his feet, Rayne headed for the door. "I'm going to speak to Philip now, alone. Rachel, I want you to go through his journal again, see if there's anything which may give us a clue to who or what is controlling Philip's body. Nick, find Kat and keep her amused until I'm done; Alex, I want you to run a check for me; get the computer to search for the name "Maria Kroftenstein."  
  
"Why?" Alex was puzzled.  
  
"I'll explain layer."  
  
Philip Callaghan lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling. His head ached severely, but his heart ached more. He could not remember exactly the events which had resulted in his being here, locked in Derek's quiet, still room, and was not sure that he wanted to. He was afraid.  
  
Philip raised a hand to his head as the chanting began again; it had been there in his mind for days now, slowly getting stronger, as he inevitably weakened. He could feel that sound draining him of his will, of his faith, of his sanity, but nothing Philip could do seemed to have any effect on it. He whimpered softly as the noise became unbearable, biting his lips hard enough to draw blood, pressing his hands frantically to the sides of his head as the chanting ever increased, louder, louder, louder....  
  
"STOP!" The priest shrieked, unable to stand the anguish any longer. "STOP, for the love of God, LEAVE ME BE!" Within him he could feel the chaos rise and the wind began to howl inside his tortured, agonised mind. Writhing on the bed, he moaned in horror as he felt the hideous twisted personality which lay inside begin to assert itself; he knew he must fight, but his strength was ebbing, slipping away into the dark, and as he threw his head back in a shriek of horrible release, the flame which had once burned so brightly in his soul flickered, and winked out.  
  
Halfway up the stairs, Derek Rayne froze, hand on the banister, as he heard the bloodcurdling screams from above. Terror grasped his heart in its cold cruel fingers as he began to run, calling Philip's name. After what seemed to be an eternity he reached the bedroom, fumbled frantically at the lock and finally flung the door open; inside, his friend lay on the bed, moaning softly in hideous agony.  
  
"Philip!" His worst fears confirmed, Derek lunged towards the bed. Around him the world seemed to ebb and change; as chaos held the priest in its maddening grip, that instability transferred to the outside, and the room was charged with madness. It was suddenly incredibly difficult to move; refusing to give his friend up without a fight, Derek struggled, inch by painful inch, the rest of the way across the room. The door slammed heavily behind him as, from another world, he heard the shouts of Alex, Nick and Rachel as they attempted to come to the rescue. From somewhere beyond all human experience a sound began, softly at first, then growing, growing, becoming deafening, tearing into his very soul....the sound of chanting.  
  
With a superhuman effort Derek reached Philip. The priest was writhing, his eyes fixed sightlessly on the ceiling, as his head was snapped cruelly back and forth by an unseen hand.  
  
"Philip!" But there was no reply. The priest was too far gone even to hear the Precept's pleading cry. Derek stared down at the crippled form helplessly.  
  
"Philip, you must fight this! You cannot let this creature control you!" A howling, unearthly wind screamed from nowhere, the storm brewing almost instantaneously, drowning out Derek's desperate words. Still he continued, knowing that if Callaghan could not beat the demon wrestling for control of his body, then Rayne himself could not.  
  
"You are stronger, Philip. It cannot defeat you. Now fight it!" For an instant, something flickered in the priest's eyes; he gazed wonderingly up at Derek, as without warning the storm thrust a gleaming golden sword deep into the Precept's heart. With an agonised cry, Derek reeled backwards, collapsing against the wall. Philip Callaghan released a piercing howl of anguish, falling back helplessly on the bed as the storm rage around him.  
  
Then, as abruptly as it had began, the chaos ceased.  
  
Derek Rayne looked up dazedly as a familiar voice addressed him.  
  
"Are you all right?" As the mist cleared from before his eyes, Derek found himself gazing into the eyes of Philip Callaghan, as the priest knelt beside him on the cold, wooden floor.  
  
"I....think so. Are you?" The other man nodded, smiling slightly. Derek rose shakily, realising abruptly that he had been mistaken. The tone had been wrong; there had been no concern, no warmth, in the eyes, merely a kind of detached, indifferent curiosity.  
  
"Who are you?" The stranger turned, gazed at Derek with quiet amusement.  
  
"My name" he said softly, "is Heinrich Tallander."  
  
V  
  
"So....this man, who claims to be called Tallander, also claims that he was a priest in the late nineteenth century. And he's not a threat?"  
  
"I never said that, Rachel." Derek Rayne sat across from her, in the soft chair which she kept for patients. It was odd to be in such a position, she reflected. Quickly checking her watch, Corrigan communicated with an apologetic glance that the exchange would have to be concluded for now, at any rate.  
  
"I understand. Come over when you're done and we'll discuss this further. I'd also like you to meet our....guest."  
  
"You've got a deal." As Rayne got to his feet and headed for the door, Rachel stopped him with a concerned question.  
  
"Derek....what have you actually done with Tallander?"  
  
"Done?" Rayne was puzzled.  
  
"Well....he's not free to roam, is he? I mean, we're not talking ball and chain here but I would have thought...."  
  
"Your caution is admirable, Rachel. As a matter of fact Alex and Nick are keeping an eye on him constantly, but he's done nothing so far which would make us perceive him as actually dangerous....except possibly to Philip." Rachel heaved a faint sigh, nodded, and turned back to her desk as Derek left the room.  
  
The man who looked like Philip Callaghan was sitting calmly on the couch, gazing out of the window at the far-reaching grounds of the Legacy house. Alex Moreau sat opposite him, watching him intently, while Nick Boyle pretended nonchalance, reading a paper, his sense constantly acute to the possibility of attack. He tensed as the priest raised his head.  
  
"Mister Boyle, Miss Moreau, this continual guarding is indeed understandable but hardy necessary. I pose no threat to you."  
  
"Then why have you done this to our friend?" Alex forestalled Nick's angry response by a more diplomatically phrased question.  
  
"That's also what I would like to know." All three looked up at the sound of the Precept's voice. Derek stood leaning casually against the doorframe, eyeing Tallander thoughtfully. The priest - if indeed he was such - stared back at him, his eyes cold, unmoved. Derek smiled faintly, ran a hand lightly through his hair.  
  
"So tell us, Father. What is it that made you invade the body and soul of a gentle man who never did anyone harm? A good man, who gave his life to help others? What made a creature like you wish to inhabit such a one as Philip Callaghan?" This last sentence was spat with such starting venom that Alex and Nick exchanged bemused looks. Throughout the tirade the interloper's eyes had never left Derek's face; now the indifference in them vanished, replaced by sudden shock, then rage, then vicious contempt.  
  
"You cannot force me to answer your question, doctor Rayne." The words were sneering, almost amused, as though appreciate some poetic irony. Derek's smile grew wider.  
  
"That, Father," he demurred, "remains to be seen."  
  
Tallander was locked firmly in Philip's room while the others sat round a computer behind the holographic wall, watching as Alex's fingers danced rapidly across the keyboard. Barely thirty seconds passed before she announced triumphantly,  
  
"Here it is." Derek, Nick and Rachel crowded closer to see.  
  
"According to what I have here, "Alex continued, "Tallander was the priest in a small village in south Germany, called Kerentoth. This is strange." She tapped a few keys and frowned.  
  
"What is it?" Derek inquired.  
  
"There's no record of him actually arriving in Kerentoth......and this is the strange part: I can't find any evidence of him being born there, either."  
  
"Records weren't necessarily so trustworthy all those years ago." Rachel offer with a shrug. "Tallander's information was probably misplaced, or perhaps destroyed."  
  
"Maybe. Still, it seems a little odd. There's a record of his death, though, a newspaper report dated March twenty-seventh, 1902: 'Father Heinrich Tallander, known to us and loved by all, passed on two days ago in a tragic accident which also killed a visitor to the village, police officer Paul Reichlok.' That's all."  
  
"Is there a photograph with the article?" Derek asked. Alex looked faintly surprised, but nodded. "Sure." She called up the image, and the text was replaced by a faded black and white picture of a handsome young man, tall, with piercing eyes and something a little peculiar in his smile. Rachel, standing close to Derek, heard the Precept's sharp intake of breath as he gazed at the photograph. She glance at him questioningly, but he declined to elaborate further.  
  
"Clearly we need more information about Tallander before we can decide what to do with him." The psychiatrist commented. "Surely there must be more?"  
  
"I'll keep looking. Meanwhile, I think someone had better go keep our visitor company." Alex suggested.  
  
"I'll do it." Nick volunteered swiftly. "If he tries anything...."  
  
"Nick." Derek shot him a warning look. "You have no idea how powerful this being may be. If he does "try anything" you yell for me, okay? Don't tackle him yourself. As far as Tallander is concerned, consider yourself vetoed."  
  
"But...."  
  
"End of argument."  
  
"He knows something."  
  
"Nick..."  
  
"I'm telling you, he knows something and he's not letting on." Alex was taking her turn at guarding Tallander while Rachel and Nick took a break downstairs. Derek was in his study, hunting through various battered volumes in an attempt, he said, to learn something more about Tallander. Nick, however, was convinced that such activity on the Precept's part was pretty much unnecessary.  
  
"He's kept information from us before." The young man glanced darkly in the direction of the study. "I don't trust him."  
  
"Nick, you've known Derek all your life, for God's sake! I've only known him for a few years but I trust him totally. There's no reason why we shouldn't."  
  
"Oh, come on, Rachel! Haven't you noticed how weird he's been acing ever since Tallander turned up? You're a psychiatrist, you must have noticed."  
  
"All right, fine." Exasperated, Rachel stood and began to pace. "I've noticed he's acting a little oddly, yes. But it's stress, Nick! How do expect him to react?"  
  
"I'm telling you, Rachel, it's more than that." Corrigan gave in with a weary sigh..  
  
"Okay, okay. But if you really think so then why don't you just confront Derek with it rather than trying to incite me to mutiny?"  
  
"I wasn't...." Nick caught the glint in his friend's eyes, and smiled unwillingly. "Yeah, well, maybe I was trying to drum up a little support. But what could I have said to Derek? 'Hey, sorry to bother you but are you by any chance in league with the Dark Side?'"  
  
"I never suggested that you openly insult him. Just make your position clear, that's all. Derek's a reasonable man, he'll understand your concerns." Slowly, Boyle nodded, then got to his feet. "You know, you're right....as always. I'll got talk to Derek." Rachel smiling to herself, followed him as he headed for the study.  
  
"Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" For the past fifty minutes Alex had been sitting on a chair beside the bed where Tallander lay, as he sprawled prone, gazing at the ceiling, ignoring her completely. Determined to get some answers, she had dispensed with tact and subtlety and decided to interrogate him outright - as pleasantly as possible, of course.  
  
"Are you likely to believe anything I tell you?" For the first time the priest's eyes met hers. He sat up, suddenly becoming animated. "Not one of you in this place trusts me. I came here intending no harm and yet you treat me like a prisoner."  
  
"You can hardly complain, Father Tallander." Alex replied smoothly. "You invaded Philip with no consideration for his welfare. Have you any idea of the mental torment he's suffered?"  
  
"Naturally the process could not be easy. Your friend fought me quite impressively. However, it was required that I return, and, as I tried many times to assure Father Callaghan, he will suffer no permanent harm from my....invasion."  
  
"If you're so harmless, then why not just explain to me what you want from us? Perhaps we can help." Tallander smiled slightly, and his whole countenance seemed to brighten.  
  
"I wish you could, Miss Moreau. I genuinely wish you could."  
  
Nick Boyle marched up to the door of Rayne's office, and was about to storm inside when he paused, remembered Rachel's words. Besides, if Derek was up to something, Nick wanted to play his hand carefully; the situation in fact called for a little more tact than the young man usually could be considered to have. So he hovered for a moment, then taking a breath, knocked calmly on the door.  
  
"Come." Nick stepped inside; Derek was sitting at the desk, scribbling away in a notebook; to Boyle's surprise, he leaned back and placed his feet calmly on the desk, the picture of quiet comfort. The very idea that he could be so calm and unconcerned in the middle of Philip's crisis enraged Boyle even more than the idea of the Precept withholding information. He balled his fists and glared belligerently across the desk.  
  
"Good to see you too, Nick." Derek murmured dryly. "What have I done this time?" Nick blinked.  
  
"What are you doing about Philip?" He demanded, completely discarding his initial plan of rational discussion.  
  
"What kind of a question is that? He's under guard."  
  
"Yeah, Alex is up there alone with that thing and you're sitting here relaxing! I don't know what's going on here, but there is one thing I'm sure about: Derek Rayne takes the safety of the Legacy very seriously." The man seated in Derek's chair smiled vaguely.  
  
"You're an astute young man, Mr. Boyle. When did you realise?"  
  
"I had my suspicions when you spoke to Tallander this afternoon. You acted strangely towards him....almost as though you knew him. I didn't put it together then, but when I walked into the room just now....I knew I was right."  
  
"And what, may I ask, was this ultimately revealing error on my part?"  
  
"The book." Nick indicated the journal, now closed, which lay on the desk. "You neglected to observe," he went on, mimicking his opponent's formal tone, "that Derek Rayne is left-handed." He watched the other man closely; the entity that was controlling Derek seemed amused by Nick's revelation. He smiled faintly, sat up in his chair.  
  
"Bravo, Mr. Boyle! A wonderful piece of detective work. Doctor Rayne would be proud of you." Nick eyed him coldly.  
  
"I think," the entity went on, "that I owe you all an explanation." 


	4. Part IV

VI  
  
With Philip - or rather, Tallander - sedated for the time being, the San Francisco House was able to convene in the lounge. Alex Moreau tapped her foot nervously as she perched on the edge of a chair; Rachel Corrigan was tight-lipped and worriedly Nick Boyle glared ineffectually into the fireplace, his face as black as thunder. He hated this kind of pointless inaction. Katherine Corrigan was not present; Rachel was concerned that her daughter should not experience any more worry than was already placed on her narrow child's shoulders. The door opened slowly, and they looked up as one.  
  
"Good evening." The thing that looked like Derek Rayne greeted them, pleasantly enough. He surveyed the sea of anxious and angry faces with calm eyes.  
  
"I expect you want to know," he went on quietly, "who I am, and what I am doing here." He smiled round expectantly, but was met with no answering smile from the others. Nick looked about ready to spring at him. With a small sigh, the interloper settled himself on the couch, near Rachel, who started at him with such wide-eyed alarm that he couldn't help smiling.  
  
"Please. I'm not likely to attempt anything with everyone surrounding me like this. I'm not some kind of superhuman, you know." Evidently no-one believed him. Rachel shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then spoke.  
  
"I think you should dispense with the conciliation and just get to the point, Mr....?"  
  
"Officer." He corrected. "Officer Paul Reichlok." Alex sat up suddenly, her eyes brightening with revelation.  
  
"The man from the newspaper report! The one who was killed in the same accident that originally killed Tallander!"  
  
"Precisely, Miss Moreau." He nodded politely to her. "But that, I'm afraid, was no accident, something which your Precept suspected. That is why he agreed to my presence here." Nick leapt to his feet. This was too much!  
  
"You mean Derek just invited you to possess him?"  
  
"Not possess, Nick." The young man blanched at such familiar use of his name. "Derek knew that San Francisco House alone could not defeat Tallander. He was aware that only one who knew him and understood his darkness could hope to achieve that. A smart man, Derek Rayne. Very smart."  
  
"Wait." Noticeably less alarmed now - there was a genuine ring to the man's tone which comforted her - Rachel spoke up. "How do you know about the Legacy?" She received a wry smile in response.  
  
"Because," Reichlok replied, "I was Precept of the Boston House in 1875, until my death in 1902." A collective semi-gasp went up from around the room. Reichlok seemed perversely pleased at the effect he had created. "Let us say," he went on with a wicked smile, "that I policed the undead." He broke into laughter; a sound very unlike Derek's own light, rare chuckle, but not unpleasant in itself. Alex found herself smiling faintly; his laugh had an infectious quality which was hard to ignore. She found herself thinking that Paul Reichlok must have been quite a man to know in life. Rachel and Nick stared at her in amazement, and she smiled a little shamefully.  
  
"I guess we're all a little stir-crazy." Reichlok nodded.  
  
"There's something I'd like to know." Alex went on, feeling it necessary to redeem herself in the eyes of her colleagues. "How did you persuade Derek to just let you take over his body, as you claim? I find it hard to believe that he could be so impulsive where the safety of Philip and even the whole Legacy could be at stake." Nick snorted at this, earning him a surprising glare from the visitor.  
  
"As I said," he replied, addressing Alex and Rachel, "your Precept is a smart man. I must admit that his remarkable psi ability didn't harm my case, either; he saw through me the events which happened almost a hundred years ago; saw what Tallander was, saw who I was; and made his decision on the basis of what he saw. Reasonably enough?"  
  
"Hardly." Nick spoke for the first time, his eyes burning with repressed rage. "How the hell can you two just sit here and listen to this?" he demanded, rounding on the women. "We don't know that a word of this is the truth - and even if it is, how do we know we can trust Derek?" To their astonishment, Reichlok leapt to his feet and fixed Nick with a vicious glare. "You may question my integrity, Mr. Boyle," his cool tone did not match the venom in his eyes. "I can understand and respect that; after all you don't know me, and I could be a danger to the Legacy and all those whom you hold dear. But I will not accept your snide, slanderous treatment of Derek Rayne's character! A man who has risked his life for you more times than either of you probably remember! I must say it hardly seems to me that you are worthy of the respect and affection he has for you." The tirade over, Reichlok sank back in his seat, slowly simmering down, frowning in annoyance at his own foolhardiness in allowing his temper to get the better of him, knowing no doubt that it would harm his case. Rachel and Alex looked aghast; Nick looked bewildered. and, surprisingly, chastened.  
  
"Okay." He muttered. "I'm sorry. I didn't really think that Derek was working against us." He glanced at the others, who were still staring at Reichlok.  
  
"I accept your apology on his behalf, Nick." The other replied, smiling slightly to indicate that the flash of anger was fully under his control. Nick looked at Alex and Rachel. "That still doesn't mean we should accept what this guy is saying as the truth." No-one replied.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"I believe him." Rachel said slowly. Nick frowned, and turned to Alex. "What about you?"  
  
"I believe him too, Nick." She held up a hand to forestall Boyle's angry objections. "But I think we should wait for some definite proof."  
  
"Proof?" Reichlok shook his head. "I don't see how I can prove any of what I'm saying." He gave a small shrug, as if he had not expected such a ridiculous suggestion.  
  
"If we could speak to Derek," Rachel began. The visitor sighed.  
  
"Doctor Corrigan, regretfully this is not a horror B-movie; I can't simply switch from person to person so easily. Have you any idea of how painful it was for Derek in the first place? 'Possession' as you like to call it, is neither easy nor harmless. Derek Rayne was noble enough to accept the agony in order to defeat Tallander." Rachel looked abashed but said nothing. Alex passed a hand over her eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by it all; in a voice which trembled with the threat of tears, she inquired,  
  
"Is that why you're here, officer Reichlok? To defeat Tallander?"  
  
"Why else, Alex? You must believe me," he met each of the gazes, finally focusing on Nick, who still stared with cold belligerence. "I'm on your side, the side of the good. I would no more be tempted by the dark side than your Derek Rayne would. We're very alike, he and I. There is no material proof I can give you that what I say is true; all I can ask is that you look at me, consider my words, and judge for yourselves. If you have as much respect for Derek's strength and compassion that I believe you do, you will judge rightly." At the end of this impassioned, but softly spoken speech, Reichlok raised his head and met the eyes of each individual in the room; quiet eyes which held the same expression of benevolence, calm, trustabiity and profound inner strength as Derek Rayne's. Rachel gazed into them and knew that she would trust this man with her life, her friend's, even her daughter's. Alex gazed into them and saw, somewhere, deep inside, the same passion and tenderness, hidden by an outward aura of calm, that she had come to love and value in Derek. Nick gazed into those eyes and saw the same fire which burned in his own reckless soul, in the form of a man who had protected him in one way or another all his life. But was that enough reason to gamble his own life, the others, perhaps even to risk the whole Legacy? He lowered his eyes. "I believe you."  
  
It was enough. 


End file.
